Outliers
by Insamnity
Summary: "We make an odd team, don't we? A Career and a kid from District Ten."  "Yeah. Fan's are probably going crazy right about now."  "Cause that's all that matters, huh? The fans?"  "Yeah. Them and the sponsors. Without them we're all screwed."
1. Chapter 1

Reaping day. Mike walked with the other boys to the assembly he wished he didn't have to go to.

He checked himself in, and went to stand with the other sixteen year olds in their roped-off section in front of the stage. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit of his. His name was in so many times. Nearly thirty. The odds were nowhere near in his favor. Being chosen was a very real possibility.

He tried to catch the eye of one of his friends. Any of them. But as usual on Reaping Day none of them would look his way. Every one of them had their names in at least as many times as Mike did.

Everything was eerily silent, with the only sound being the footsteps of kids running late as they rushed to make it to their spots.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Mike sneered. The capital made him sick. He couldn't stand how...fake they were. As Floura, the capital representative for district ten, began to speak he zoned out, thinking about his two older brothers. James, the oldest, had just turned nineteen, and his name wouldn't be in this year's reaping. Marc was eighteen, this would be his last year. Mike had two more after this, provided he wasn't picked this year.

"And now for the drawing!" Floura smiled, like this was the best thing that could happen to anyone. All the capitol people only viewed being a Tribute as a great honor. In Mike's opinion if it was such a fucking honor they should send their own kids to fight and let them feel the terror every child in the districts felt every year. Let them fight to the death while the districts watched and bet on their favorites.

"The female representative from district ten," Floura announced. "Is..." Mike could hear every girl in the district draw in a collective breath. "Korrina Melsford!"

Mike sighed. He couldn't say he was happy it was her that was chosen, he hated the games, and all that they stood for and would never be glad of any Tribute that was chosen, but he never had liked Korrina. They always seemed to be at odds, no matter what it was they were doing. School, recreation, it didn't matter. The two of them had always clashed.

Mike watched as she walked up to the platform, standing tall with her head held high in the air. She hadn't even flinched when her name had been called, but Mike could see her clenched jaw, and her hand trembling slightly, revealing exactly how afraid she was. Over the years Mike had grown good at reading tributes chosen at the Reapings.

Korrina stood, staring out at the assembled crowd. A few shot her looks of sympathy, others stood staring at the ground, probably feeling glad that it wasn't them, then guilty, for thinking that way. Mike knew that because it was exactly how he felt every year after the drawing of the male Tribute.

"Congratulations! Congratulations!" Floura smiled at Korrina. Floura looked back out at the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, your female Tribute for the 67th annual Hunger Games!"

There was half-hearted applause throughout the assembled crowd.

Floura pretended not to notice as she applauded enthusiastically, before crossing the stage to the large glass bowl containing the names of all the male candidates available for the "honor" of becoming a tribute.

"And now for the boys!" Floura announced, and placed her hand in the bowl, stirring around the papers for an agonizingly long time.

As she finally selected one Mike's heart hammered and he felt his breathing accelerate. Slowly, Floura pulled the small slip of paper from the bowl and unfolded it. His heart nearly stopped as she began to read the name; "Michael Richardson!"

Mike suddenly felt very small, and very, very alone

* * *

><p>Jordan shoved his last opponent down, satisfied with the carnage he had caused. Connell put his hands up to his face, straightening out his nose. Jordan extended his hand, helping the other boy to his feet.<p>

"Congrats, man," Connell smiled, slapping Jordan an the back and staining Jordan's shirt with the blood on his hand.

"Thanks," Jordan smiled. "I've waited a long time for this."

Connell nodded, throwing his arm around the smaller boy. "The next Hunger Games champion from District One! How long will the games last this time, huh? Two days? Or will you take pity on those outlying districts and let them live?"

Jordan shrugged, throwing off his friend's arm. Reality was beginning to set in, that he would, in fact, be going to the Hunger Games in less than two hours. Reaping Day was a huge affair in District One, with all the trained candidates fighting for their spot in the esteemed arena. After all, only one boy could go, and to ensure only the best of the best were representing the first district, a tournament was held between the candidates, pitting them against each other until the best came out on top.

And now it was here. Jordan had trained his entire life for this, and now he had beat out the other thirteen boys who had all been vying for a chance to volunteer at the Reaping. Now the honor and glory would be his.

"It's getting close to the Reaping," Jordan said, looking at the clock on the wall. "I should go get ready."

Connell nodded, looking at himself in the large mirror hanging on the wall of the gym where the tournament had been held. "I don't know *what* my hair is doing right now."

Jordan rolled his eyes, not pointing out that Connell's blond hair was, in fact, too short to do anything. "I'll see you later."

The walk to his parents' house was a short one. Once inside the grand estate, Jordan ran upstairs, avoiding all of his family. Hardly able to stand them on a regular basis, having them fawn all over him when he wanted peace would be unbearable.

Passing the two hours was harder than he initially thought. He changed his shirt, tossing the old, blood-stained one in the garbage, then changed his pants because he knew his mother would make him. He tussled with his brother, but his mother made them stop after the two of them nearly put a hole in the wall.

Finally, it was time for the Reaping. As the massive population of he first district stood, uniformed, in the middle on the square, Jordan couldn't help but look around. He wondered who the female candidate would be. He knew whoever it was would probably be one of the hardest to beat.

"Hello, and welcome to 67th annual Hunger Games!" an overly cheerful voice echoed around a loudspeaker. A woman with frizzy purple hair done up in a mop on her head and blue eyeshadow up to her eyebrows stood, beaming, at the crowd. Jordan rolled his shoulders, trying not to bounce up and down. She still had her speech and then a girl had to volunteer...

"This year, we'll be getting right down to business! It is time to chose a female candidate for the games!" Jordan's head shot up as the Capitol representative, Mila, smiled at the crown and asked, "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer for the Hunger Games!" a voice came from the back of the crowd. Every head turned to see who had spoken. A girl Jordan knew walked toward the stage, her head held high, confidence radiating off her in waves. Her name was Garnet, and she had long, black hair and cold, black eyes. The clothes she wore showed off a slender but powerful body. She had been the top of her class for six years running.

Mila couldnt have been happier as she ushered Garnet onto the stage "What's your name, dear?" she asked.

"Garnet Modinsale." Garnet flipped her hair back as she announced herself, every bit sure that she would be the one to come home. Jordan smirked. How wrong she was.

"Well, how about a round of applause for your female Tribute from District one!" Jordan smirked as he clapped slowly.

"And now," The Capitol Representative announced, practically screaming into the microphone. "For your male candidate. Any volunteers?"

Jordan smiled. "I volunteer as a Tribute!" He called, making sure his voice was heard. As he walked up to the stage there were no surprised murmurs or whispers. This was expected.

"And your name?"

"Jordan Roderick," he said, grinning.

"Another Roderick," The Capitol Woman smiled. "Well, it seems like you two will definitely be contenders in this year's Games! Why don't you two shake hands...then just in through here," she motioned to the doors behind the two Tributes.

Jordan reached out and shook Garnet's hand, each of them trying to squeeze harder than the other, before walking through the doors.

* * *

><p>Mike slowly shuffled out of his line, having to be prodded along by the Peacekeepers. Korrina looked down at him from the platform, something akin to sympathy in her eyes.<p>

He was barely aware of himself walking up to the platform. He scanned the crowd, but all he saw were faces. He couldn't recognize any. He was too far gone.

"Your candidates for the 67th annual Hunger Games!" Floura yelled into the microphone. Mike tried hard not to wince. As before there were a few half-hearted claps, but nothing that could really be considered applause.

"Yes, well," Floura said, "Right this way you two." She ushered Mike and Korrina through two large doors, following after them, before the peacekeepers closed them and shut Mike and Korrina off from the only part of the world they'd ever known.

Inside what was the Town Hall of District ten the two Tributes were split. Korrina was led down one hall, while Mike was led in the opposite direction before he was guided into a room.

"Your friends and family will be allowed to see you briefly," A Peacekeeper said, speaking for the first time. "They will be brought here." Mike could only nod in response.

As the Peacekeeper left he sat down against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them, wishing he'd wake up from this nightmare.

He looked up as the door creaked open. "Mike?" His oldest brother stuck his head in the door before walking through, followed by Marc.

From somewhere outside the door Mike heard a Peacekeeper say. "Three minutes."

Mike got to his feet and stood facing his brothers, and for a few seconds none of them had anything to say. Finally, it was James who spoke up. "You can pull through this, you know that don't you? You're strong enough. Come back to us, alright?"

"James, you know I hate the Games. If I have to be a piece in them I don't want to be a tool used to kill other kids. Besides...I don't think I could bring myself to do it."

"Mike," Marc put in. "It's kill or be killed. You know that. You have to fight. If not for you then for us. We don't want to lose you." He paused. "Who else would we have to pick on around here?"

Mike smiled halfheartedly. "I'll miss you guys."

"We'll miss you too, little brother," James said, and ruffled his hair before pulling him into a hug. "But we'll only miss you for a little while. Stay alive in there, and come home."

Mike pulled out of his brother's embrace without a word, and James stepped back, as Marc stepped forward to hug his little brother as well. "See you soon, kid. Good luck." He stepped back just as the Peacekeeper opened the door to tell them time was up.

Each of the older boys looked back once to smile sadly at their brother before walking out the door.

Mike backed up against the wall as reality began to set in. Being a Tribute in the Hunger Games for all but one person each year was as good as a death sentence. And he knew that every other Tribute out there had brothers, or parents, or sisters, or friends... _someone_ who was telling them the exact same thing Mike's brother's had. That they were strong enough to pull through and that they could come home. It would only be true for one person.

He looked up as his door opened again, and his parents walked through. His mother's eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks tear-stained. His father's jaw was clenched, and he was tense, the only indication of what he was feeling.

His mother rushed forward and hugged him without a word, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. He hugged her, wishing he had something comforting to say. "Don't cry, Mom," he muttered.

Mike felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "You come home, son," he said, so quietly Mike almost didn't hear him.

No one said anything after that. No one even moved for the remainder of their three minutes until a Peacekeeper opened the door to tell his parents it was time for them to leave. Before his father pulled her off Mike's mother took his face in her hands, still crying, and kissed his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

As the ceremony ended, Jordan and Garnet were ushered into the town center building behind them, where they would say their last good-byes. Jordan's visitors didn't surprise him. First in were his father and mother.

"My boy," his mother sighed, stepping forward to hug him. She stepped back after a long embrace, looking at him and smiling softly to herself. "Im so proud of you. You'll do great, I know it."

"Thanks, Mom." he bit his lip. Even though he knew he was coming back, these good-byes might be his last...

His father slapped him on the back, shaking him out of his thoughts. "We have faith in you, son. Now, I'm not allowed to coach you, and neither is Riddell, so you'll have to think for yourself. Just watch the tapes from last year. Your bother did great, so you could learn from him."

Jordan felt a prickle of discomfort at the statement, but pushed it down. His father was only trying to help him. "Thanks, Dad. "

After a bit of mindless chatter, mostly consisting of tips for the Games, his parents were ushered out and his brother burst into the room.

"Baby bro, all grown up, huh?" Riddell asked, grinning and ruffling Jordan's hair.

"Guess so," Jordan smiled at his older brother.

Riddell laughed. "This is insane, kid. You're gonna be the next Hunger Games victor, you realize that? Congratulations, kid."

"Hey, I've gotta win first, Riddell."

"You'll do great, kid."

"Thanks. Any last minute advice?" Jordan asked, suddenly nervous for the first time. He was terrified of letting everyone down. His district, his parents, but most of all his brother, who had won the year before.

"Yeah. Stay alive in the arena," Riddell smiled at his little brother.

"Thanks for that, Riddell. I don't know how I ever would have figured that one out without you."

Riddell laughed and hugged his brother. "You'll do great. I'll be rooting for you, okay? See you when you get home." he turned and headed for the door.

"Hey, Riddell?" Jordan called his brother back as he had his hand on he doorknob. His brother turned around to look at him. "Did you get nervous before your games?"

"Yeah. I was afraid of letting everyone down. Especially Dad, since he's won before."

Jordan nodded. "Yeah. That's pretty much how I'm feeling right now. I don't wanna let you down, Ridd."

"You won't, Jordan. You're ready for this. But look, if you're really worried about it team up with whoever you see as a threat. They'll think twice about stabbing you in the back, especially at the beginning. It won't make them very popular with the sponsors either."

"So Garnet then?"

Riddell smiled. "See you've already got these Games figured out. I'll see you when you get back. Good luck," He smirked "And may the odds be ever in your favor." He ruffled his brother's hair one more time before walking out the door.

* * *

><p>Mike had never been on a train before, and he knew he looked like an idiot gaping at everything around him. He'd never seen anything that looked so...well...<em> expensive<em>. He turned his head back and forth trying to take everything in.

There were four large seats set up in the middle of the car, with a small table between each set of two. On one end of the car was another table, with all different types of glasses and drinks, most of which Mike was willing to bet he'd never heard of.

Three large windows were on either side of the train car, letting them see out, but once they started moving and picking up speed everything outside of them became a blur.

Mike and Korrina were ushered into seats by an overly-enthusiastic Floura. "Isn't it all _ wonderful_?" she gushed, clapping her hands together as she sat across from the two Tributes. Her plastered smile faltered slightly when neither of the two answered. Deciding to take pity on her Mike cleared his throat and agreed. "Uhh, yeah. Wonderful," he said, forcing what he hoped was a convincing smile.

If Floura could tell he was faking she didn't show it. Immediately her over enthusiastic smile was stuck on her face again.

"Your mentor should be right with you, oh, this is so exciting."

Korrina and Mike looked at each other, for once agreeing on something. Neither one of them was excited. They would both give anything to be anywhere _but_ here, despite how luxurious things were compared to what the two of them were used to.

Mike stared at his feet, wanting to wake up. None of this felt real. That meant it had to be a dream, didn't it? Any second he was going to wake up in his own bed in the room he shared with Marc and they were going to get up and go feed the animals just like any other morning. Then they'd eat breakfast themselves and maybe screw around for a bit before they had lessons.

He glanced over at Korrina. Like him she seemed to be just staring, although she was looking at the blur that was outside.

"Oh! Here we are!" Floura announced suddenly, standing up as the door at the back of the train car slid open. "That ought to be Deacon now!"

Mike knew Deacon by sight, although not personally. District ten had had a total of seven victors, however Deacon was the only one that was still around. Most of their victors had won in some of the early games; before the Careers had become so prominent. Nowadays they won it almost every year. When they had their entire lives to train it made sense. For anyone in any of the outer districts, though, being chosen as Tribute wasn't only a death sentence...it was an execution that was put on on a stage for everyone you cared about to watch. That scared Mike almost more than knowing he was probably going to die. He knew his brothers and his parents would be watching and hoping it would be him that would come home. And he was almost certain he would let every single one of them down.

Mike snapped himself back into reality as Deacon walked into the car, and sat down across from Korrina and himself. "So, how are my two Tributes feeling?"

Mike and Korrina stared at him in disbelief. "How exactly do you _want_ us to feel?" Mike snapped, more hostile than he intended, but he didn't understand how Deacon could take such a light approach to something like this. It seemed that he of all people should understand his and Korrina's situation. He'd been where they were sitting.

"A little bit bitter, are we there, uhh...?"

"Mike. Really? You don't even know our names? Were you even at the reaping?"

"Me? No, I avoid those things like the plague. Have since my Games," Deacon said.

Mike clenched his jaw. He was definitely going to die now.


	3. Chapter 3

Jordan followed one of the peacekeepers out of the building and to the train station. Garnet brushed past him and walked through the train door. Jordan rolled his eyes, and followed after her.

The two of them sat down in chairs across from each other in the center of the train car. Jordan plopped down sideways, dangling his legs over the side of the chair. Mila shot him a disgusted look, which he pretended not to notice. "So who's mentor this year?" Jordan asked. "Since my dad and brother aren't allowed to mentor me?"

"Two Victors are accompanying you to the capitol," Mila explained, sitting down in the chair next to Garnet. "One will mentor each of you. Jordan, your mentor will be Garrik. He won-"

"Five years ago, yeah I know. He's good friends with my dad."

Mila nodded. "Garnet, your mentor will be Kimi, she won four years ago."

Garnet smiled. "Sounds great."

"We should be at the Capitol in about twenty minutes," Mila trilled. Jordan leaned against the plush chairs and stared out the window. He looked up as the door at the end of the compartment opened, and Garrik and Kimi walked in.

Garrik sat down next to Jordan, who sat up to look at his mentor. "Hey, kid, how you doin'? Eighteen already, huh?"

Jordan nodded. "Yeah. Already."

Garrik smiled at the boy. "Well, congratulations on getting here. Whattaya say we go into the next car and talk strategy?"

"Sure, sounds good," Jordan said, getting up, and following his mentor out the door he had come through.

The next car over was almost identical to he first, with the exception of there only being two chairs, instead of the five in the other room. Jordan plopped down in one, while Garrik rolled his eyes and sat down across from him. "So how're you feeling, kid? You nervous?"

"No," Jordan said, probably a little too quickly. Garrik cocked an eyebrow. "Okay...maybe I'm a _little_ nervous."

"Thought so. I'll let you in on a secret...so was your brother."

"Look, Garrik, I'm not my brother."

"I know," he said. "But you seem to look up to him, so I thought knowing he was nervous too might help you calm your nerves."

Jordan just shrugged. "He told me he was nervous. I already knew that." Jordan said.

"Well, in any sense, you're much like him, so strategy should be about the same. You'll stay around the cornucopia for the supplies, because I'm assuming you're good at hand-to-hand fighting."

"I didnt get to volunteer because I made people laugh, if that's what you're saying."

"Exactly," Garrik said. "So now, before we continue...It never hurts to check out the competition. So what do you say we watch the tapes of the Reapings from the other districts?"

"Why not," Jordan shrugged, and leaned back in his chair.

* * *

><p>Mike woke up as the train began to slow. He sat up, taking a minute to remember where he was, and looked around the train car that had been his own for the train ride. He looked out the window, and saw a huge city, that he knew must be the capitol. It was something he'd only seen in pictures.<p>

"Kid, you're gonna want to get up. We're at the capitol. Get dressed." Mike looked up as Deacon walked in, and threw a collared shirt, which hit him in the face. "You've only got about five minutes."

"I'll be ready," Mike said, and watched as his mentor walked back out of his compartment.

He shoved his head into the stuffy shirt, utterly detesting the Capitol.

"Mike?" Korrina walked in. "I'm supposed to make sure you're coming. They want the two of us to leave the train together, or something."

"Yeah, I'm coming," Mike said, putting his feet on the ground.

"Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"You might want to wear pants."

He looked down to where he was wearing nothing but boxers. "Right. Thanks, Korrina. I'll be there in a second."

When he came out again- fully dressed, he checked- Korrina smiled at him. "Much better."

"Are you ready?" Mike asked, hearing the roar of the crowd.

"Ready? Absolutely not," She said, and the two of them took a deep breath before stepping out of the train, facing the very loud capitol population.

"Come on, you two," Deacon said, moving behind them and ushering them forward, keeping himself between them and the capitol citizens. "No use in them trampling one of you before the games..." he muttered, and Mike was pretty sure neither of them were supposed to have heard it.

* * *

><p>Jordan stretched as the train began to slow. The downt time felt good after the long day. He stretched, rolling to his feet as Garnet walked in. She took a deep breath, running her hand through her long hair.<p>

"Relax," Jordan smirked up at her, "they'll love you even if that one hair is out of place. "

She rolled her eyes. "Can you just pretend to be a normal human being for the sponsors, please?"

He wrapped an arm around her, which she promptly shrugged off. "I can't work if you don't give me anything to work with you know," he told her as they walked through the doors.


	4. Chapter 4

The stylist team was nothing like Mike had imagined-it was worse.

They stripped him of his clothes and scrubbed his skin until it was raw, and Mike swore he'd rather be thrown into the arena right there and then than put up with this. "My God! You are _filthy!_" one of the girls commented, trying to clean dirt out from under his fingernails

"Yeah. I raise animals. Getting dirty tends to happen," Mike snapped, frowning as they continued to work on him.

They never gave his clothes back to him, instead they dressed him in a thin hospital-like gown, and looked him over. "Something _has_ to be done about his hair," one of the two girls on the team, commented.

The other three stylists nodded. "Far too long. Hangs in his eyes and covers his face. We can't send him to Rona in this state."

They descended on him once again, and he could hear scissors snipping near his ears. Mike wanted to tell them to stop but he had a feeling that even if he spoke up his protests would fall upon deaf ears. So he sat there and let them do what they wanted to his hair.

He smelled something sweet, and hands mussing his hair. "What are you doing?" he asked, wishing he had a mirror to see.

"Just making sure your hair stays the way we want it." All four of the team stepped back and Mike went to run a hand through his newly-short hair. It was promptly slapped away from his head. "Don't you touch that!"

"Sorry." Mike held his hands up in a defensive posture.

"What do you think?" one of the girls asked. "I think he's ready." All three of the others nodded in agreement.

"Wait here," one of the males told Mike, speaking for the first time. "Rona will be in in just a moment."

Mike nodded, and sat down to wait.

He wasn't waiting long. About two minutes later a woman walked in. Her hair was bright red. And it wasn't normal "Redhead" red either. Bright Crimson. It almost hurt to look at.

"Hello, Michael," she smiled, revealing startlingly white teeth. Everything about this woman was bright.

"Mike," he corrected her.

"Mike," she nodded. "I would congratulate you...but I have a feeling that isn't what you want to hear."

Mike nodded. "I don't feel like people should congratulate people who are about to die."

Rona smiled kindly at him. "I understand. But don't write yourself off as one of the twenty-three to die. That's what I'm here to help you with. I may not be able to help you in the arena...but I can make sure you are remembered by the people who _can_. Will you let me?"

Mike nodded. "Thank you."

Rona walked around him. "Well, you definitely have potential, so that's good. You have a good face. Strong. Yes, I definitely have a lot to work with here." Mike got the feeling that she was talking more to herself than to him.

* * *

><p>The stylist team thought Jordan was the best Tribute the world had ever created. They had been assigned to District 12 the year before, and, as they thought, District One was just plain cleaner. They hardly had to touch Jordan, just gave him a quick shower since he hadn't been able to take one after the Reaping.<p>

His stylist, Shimi, looked him up and down. "You would look good in red," she finally said. "So would Garnet, actually. "

"Great," Jordan said sarcastically. He didn't care what he looked like. He wasn't like the outlying districts. His fate didn't depend on him being remembered. As a Career, coming from such a prestigious line, he would be well-known throughout Panem.

"Definitely red," Shimi decided, completing her last circuit around the Tribute, "It'll look good on you," she smiled brilliantly and left the room, probably to find necessary shades of the same freaking color. God forbid it wasn't _true_ red her tributes were wearing, Jordan thought as he watched her go. He didn't think the Capitol deserved to style anyone. He didnt particularly want eyeshadow up to his eyebrows or his face to look like he was allergic to sunlight.

But God forbid he didn't look good before he killed everyone in the arena. This was the part of the Games Jordan had always found completely unnecessary. The twenty four kids were literally fighting for their lives and all the Capitol wanted was to make them look good. He could see why the outlying districts detested everything about the Hunger Games.

Shimi walked back in, a smile plastered all over her face, holding Jordan's costume. "What do you think?" she asked, holding it up.

Jordan looked at her. "You're freaking insane if you think I'm going to wear that thing."

* * *

><p>Mike looked down at his outfit. "I know this will get us remembered, but are you sure it's in the way we want?"<p>

"Of course it is! What could you possibly be doubting?"

"The fact that I jingle when I walk," he said, stamping his feet to demonstrate the spurs on the back of his boots.

"The spurs complete the entire outfit!" Rona explained. "They stay."

"Wonderful," Mike muttered, and turned around as he heard boots clicking on the ground behind him and saw Korrina walking with her stylist over to them. They had her in a brown skirt, that stopped just at her knees. She wore a tight white shirt under her brown vest and around her hips was a belt with a buckle that matched the one Mike had, but slightly smaller. Like Mike she had on a hat, and her stylist had put her hair in two braids, both of which ended at about her shoulders.

She looked Mike up and down, at the blue-jeans and chaps he was wearing and the ridiculous cowboy shirt she had forced him into. "Think they know we don't actually dress like this in District Ten?"

"I don't think they have a clue," he whispered back.

"Thought so."

* * *

><p>"I look ridiculous," Jordan complained.<p>

"Nonsense, you look groomed. "

"I don't even know what the hell that's supposed to mean!"

Shimi pursed her lips, obviously dissatisfied. "I'll just go get Garnet and you'll see if you think these costumes are stupid then. " she quickly walked away, and Jordan was at a loss once again.

He looked at himself. He knew he looked good, he looked good in everything. The suit was tailored to fit his muscular frame, wrapping around broad shoulders and slimming down to hug his narrow waist. It was the color that was atrocious. The entire outer jacket was red. Not deep red, not orange red. Red. Jordan thought he was an eyesore. At least the pants were black.

Jordan looked up as he heard footsteps. Garnet walked into the room, and he was sure his jaw dropped. The minidress her stylist had put her in looked amazing on her. It hugged in all the right places, cut off low enough on her thigh to still be modest but show off plenty of her toned legs, And the color made her dark eyes burn. The color was red, of course, but he couldn't help but think that if offset her light skin perfectly. Her hair was pulled back, with a few of the dark tendrils left down to frame her face.

"How do I look?" she asked him, smiling.

"Ho-ly crap."

Garnet rolled her eyes. "You really are an idiot, you know that?"

"Seems like I've heard that somewhere before."

She rolled her eyes again, but there was a happy light in her eyes that Jordan hadn't seen in a while. She walked unsteadily toward him, trying to balance in her heels.

"If I break an ankle, do you think I get a free pass?" she asked, taking his arm to steady herself.

Jordan smirked. "Probably not, but it might make everyone else's job easier."

Garnet rolled her eyes.

"You too had better be ready!" Shimi called. "The parade starts in about 30 seconds so get over her into the chariot!"

"Guess that's our cue," Jordan said, and Garnet nodded, still clinging to Jordan's arm to keep her balance.

He walked with her to the chariot. She gripped his arm, taking a deep breath, as they both took their places in the chariot.


End file.
